


A Dream of Pomegranate Seeds

by InquiryFoxtrot



Series: Gbj JonElias Week [5]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Mythology, Day 7: Free Day, Inspired by Hades and Persephone (Ancient Greek Religion & Lore), M/M, really playing loose and fast with the canon of Greek mythology in this one, technically gbj week
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-14
Updated: 2020-10-29
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:15:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25889458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InquiryFoxtrot/pseuds/InquiryFoxtrot
Summary: Elias hums thoughtfully. “You raise an interesting point. But I must admit, I’ve never cared much about risking what is important to others,” He muses. “I only try to avoid risking what is important to me.”Jon looks down at his hands. Elias sees that they are trembling. “Is that why you risked taking me?” He questions. “Or why you will not risk letting me go?” His stomach turns when he realizes he does not have an answer.
Relationships: Elias Bouchard/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Georgie Barker/Melanie King (background)
Series: Gbj JonElias Week [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1870744
Comments: 15
Kudos: 37





	1. Prologue

Long ago, before the modern age, before the age of man entirely, before even the age of Gods, lived the Age of Titans. Fifteen Titans ruled with fear over the mortal realm, imprisoning mortals within their terrifying domains. Domains that crawl and choke and blind and fall and twist and leave and hide and weave and burn and hunt and rip and lead and die, where the Titans derived power and pleasure from the horror of those within. But mortals and Titans were not the only beings who lived this age. The nature of these Titans brought forth the Gods, powerful, immortal beings who harnessed the power of the Titans for their own gain. 

Eventually, the Gods grew powerful enough to use the gifts the Titans had given them against the Titans, overthrowing the Titan’s rule and instilling themselves as rulers of the mortal world. The Gods banished the Titans beyond reality and established the mountain Olympus as their palace to oversee the world from. There, for centuries, the Gods watched and ruled the mortal realm in peace. 

But this is not that story. This story begins much later than that, several millennia later, in fact. This is the story of two Gods, one of spring and flowers and life, and one of riches and secrets and the underworld. This is a story of loneliness and light. This is a story of bitter hearts turned warm. This is a story of love.

The God of spring had grown up long after the Titans had been banished, in a time of peace and prosperity. He helped bring life to the world in the form of gorgeous flowers; blossoms that brought joy and happiness in the spring and then life and love during the summer. 

This God was known for his compassion for God and mortal alike. He cared and cared and cared, even when it would have hurt him less not to. He was loved by many for this compassion, but none loved him more than the Goddesses of harvests and agriculture and magic. He was their nearest and dearest friend, someone these Goddesses would go to the ends of the Earth to protect. These Goddesses loved the God of Spring so much, and he loved them. For centuries his life was Olympus and the Goddesses and the flowers. And he was content. 

The God of the Underworld had lived a different life. He had been one of the many Gods to banish the Titans all those millennia ago. After defeating the Titans the God of the Underworld, who was just a God at this point as he did not yet rule the world below, sat with his two friends and divided the mortal realm between them. One became the God of the sky, the vast open air and all that was in it would be his domain. One became the God of the seas, he gained an open ocean where all that would bother him would be the creatures within it and the gentle waves, which was what this God preferred. And our final God was gifted the Underworld, he would oversee the souls of the dead and guard them, he would have dominion over all the riches of the Earth, and at the time he was content. 

But the God of the Underworld soon found the realms had not been split equally. He was soon cast aside by the other Olympians, dismissed as merely the guardian of the dead, thought of as sinister and evil for his dealings in death and laws of life. He found the mortals feared him, thought that he was the one who took their lives away and not the one who protected them when they were gone. He found God and Mortal alike shied away from his presence, his touch. His life slowly became one of solitude, one even the God of Seas could be jealous of. His only brief company became the few other Gods of Death and Justice, who he kept at arm's length for fear that they would cast him aside too. 

Centuries of this treatment made the God cold and bitter, until all that was left in his heart was a desire to see the world burn, with very little care for any Gods or mortals that burned with it. 

That is, until one day, when the God was spying on Olympus from afar, he caught sight of the God of Spring in the gardens. Instantly, he was entranced by this God who laughed without a care and brought life into the world with his fingertips. The God of the Underworld thought the God of Spring was beautiful and enchanting, he adored how the God of Spring and Flowers treated all his plants with such gentle care. So the God of the Underworld kept coming back. Everyday he would make his way to surface to watch the God of Spring and everyday the God of the Underworld felt his heart soften. 

He wanted nothing more than to stop just watching this God and to start knowing him too, interacting with him, getting the honor of befriending him. But the God of the Underworld knew this would never happen, for there were few in Olympus who hated the God of the Underworld more than the Goddesses who surrounded the God of Spring. He knew they would never allow him close to the God of Spring, they would never even allow him to speak with him. 

Unless.

Unless they were removed from the equation. 

With the tiniest seeds of an idea, the God of Underworld returned to the world below and plotted. He spent weeks watching, planning, creating the best way to finally, finally speak with the God he had watched for so long. 

Once he was ready, he travelled back to surface one final time. As he passed the gardens he spied the God of Spring in the gardens, tenderly caring to a field of lilacs. The God of the Underworld’s heart thrummed in anticipation. Soon, he mused, soon. 

When night descended upon Olympus he bade audience with the King of the Olympians, the God of Vast and Open Skies. He asked the King a simple request: the God of Spring’s hand in marriage. The God of the Underworld watched as the God of Skies mulled over his request. If he was denied then his plan fell apart, he would never know the true warmth the God of Spring could bring him. He would be stuck, cold, lonely, and bitter forever. 

The God of Skies sighed, and shrugged before granting the God of the Underworld the greatest gift in the universe. 

He said yes.


	2. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Above him dirt and mud keep falling, slowly overtaking his vision. The brilliant dawn sky, blue and pink and dazzling gets smaller and smaller as he reaches in vain towards it, arms outstretched for something, anything, to grab on to. Then the earth covers his vision and all is quietly, suffocatingly dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick cw: there’s a couple sentences of minor body horror from “The Ferryman looks” to “He must be tired”  
> Nothing graphic!! Just what comes with the territory when some of your characters are dead.

The God of Springs, or Jonathan as he is known to those close to him, plays idy with several blades of grass beneath him. He sits by the edge of a riverbed, his feet dangling lazily in clear, cool water. Across from him two nymphs floated on their backs in the stream: Oliver, a dryad with dark oak skin and pine needles intertwined in his hair, and Gerry, the naiad of this river whose body shifted between water and person like physical form was an afterthought. 

Jon always found the presence of nymphs comforting. They were entrenched in history, their rivers and trees had been created when Mother Earth herself had created the world, they were older than the Titans, they were older than the first Gods, and they were much, much older than Jon. Jon liked older people, older places, older things. When something was old it had a history, and when it had a history you could understand it, know where it came from, where it had been. Connect, empathize, all the things he struggled to do. 

He liked when there was always something new to find out about someone. He liked the surprise in realizing: _Oh! He didn’t know that._ He liked knowledge as a form of love. It was a way to show he cared, gathering little facts and details about someone until Jon had built a mental catalogue of all things _them_. Like how he knew the Gerry’s river ran from Olympus to the mortal world all the way to the entrance of the Underworld, where it merged with the River Styx. Or how he preferred the company of other nymphs over the Gods but had made an exception for Jon. Like how he knew that Oliver’s tree grew apples made of gold but that those apples were sacred and that he would never give them away.. Or how Oliver liked the quiet of Olympus when nobody else was awake, save him and Jon and Gerry. 

When Jon bothered to learn their histories, to learn who they were, deeply and truly, the nymphs of Olympus knew what that meant. It was why he preferred the company of the nymphs over most of the Gods as well, as he had always found trouble in connecting with other Gods, besides, of course, his Goddesses. But they didn’t count. His Goddesses had practically raised Jon after he came into being. He loved them dearly, of course, but their company was a constant, they had been there since Jon’s birth and they would be there for many millennia after. But the other Gods? They were distant and strange and Jon barely wanted to attempt knowing them. 

So instead he sequesters himself to the nymphs and the muses (when they could be pulled away from the God of Music and Charms) and the other spirits of Olympus. Even when those nymphs were quite insistent on getting Jon’s attention. 

“-on. Jon. Jon. Jooooon,” Gerry drones, tilting his head back to look at him. Jon, finally present in the conversation, chooses to ignore him a while longer and focuses his attention on the blades of grass beneath his fingers, growing the thin blades higher and higher into the air until they’re long enough to properly fiddle with. Gerry, seemingly more annoyed at Jon’s lack of attention than he thought, grumbles before shooting a stream of water into Jon’s face. “Jon!”

Jon startles, letting out a yelp that’s quickly choked off as water enters his mouth. He splutters, shooting his hand up to wipe the water out of his eyes. He turns a withering gaze to Gerry, “What?” 

Gerry sinks into the stream, his upper half reforming as leans his arms on the edge of the riverbed to peer up at Jon. 

“Nothing,” He says and tilts his head mischievously, a smirk dancing across his face. “I just wanted your attention.”

Jon looks down at his soaking toga and back at Gerry. “Well, here I am. What do you need?” A beat of silence passes as Gerry fixes him with a scrutinizing gaze. Jon turns away from the look, focusing instead on the landscape beyond the river. This section of Gerry’s waters live at the edge of Jon’s gardens, an expansive, glittering blue river that snakes its way through the world. The mortals call it Oceanus, the World’s River, the largest body of water they know. On the opposite shore lives Oliver’s tree, where the Hesperides and Ladon guard the fruits it bears. And just beyond that, is Georgie’s realm. 

Even from here he can feel the warm expanse of Georgie’s fields. Sprawling acres of wheat and vegetables and fruit trees and all the nourishment the Earth can provide. Where it is perpetual dawn in Jon’s gardens, the sun sits high and bright over the crops. The cooling breezes in the gardens become warm caresses in the fields. Jon finds it poetic, in a way, that all the things born in Jon’s gardens become their best in Georgie’s fields. 

Gerry kicks Jon’s foot, returning him to the conversation at hand. “I don’t have your attention apparently,” He huffs, blowing a strand of curly black hair out of his face. “You seem more up in the clouds than usual, anything wrong?”

Jon shrugs. “Nothing, just,” He pauses and waives his hand vaguely. It really is nothing, at least, nothing Jon can properly describe. Getting caught up in his own head isn’t uncommon for Jon. It tends to happen when you spent most of your time alone in a garden, but it wasn’t just that. It was that his mind felt like it was drifting, floating somewhere far, far away from Olympus with no way for Jon to keep up, somewhere he didn’t think he could even try to follow. Jon’s whole body felt like it was vibrating sometimes, waiting for a race that wouldn’t start. His limbs ached with the need to do . . . something. Anything. “Nothing. It’s nothing.”

Gerry didn’t look convinced. “Alright,” He says slowly, raising his eyebrow as he draws out the word. 

“Are you sure?” Oliver pipes up from Jon’s side, seemingly having crossed the stream without Jon’s notice, which only exacerbates the point. 

“Yes, I’m fine,” Jon attempts a reassuring smile. Though from the look on the nymphs’ faces he hasn’t succeeded. He squirms. “Well, I’ve got plenty of godly responsibilities to get to so I’m going to go.” He says and rises, he doesn’t actually have much to do, sure, he’s a God, but he isn’t an _Olympian_. He is, however, desperate to escape the present conversation. 

“But-” 

“Jon- wait-” 

“I’m going, I’ll visit you both later,” Jon starts moving away from the river, knowing neither of the nymphs will follow, not if Jon really wants to be alone. He appreciates that about them.. “I promise, I’m fine.” He assures and turns his back on their worried faces, walking further into the gardens. 

He passes the flower bushes, maneuvers his way through the mazes of vines and hedges, ducks beneath the wings of butterflies and songbirds. His body feels stronger the farther he goes and behind him trails of foliage grow with each step. It’s a sign of power, his power. He may not be an Olympian, but what matters in Olympus is that he could be, only tradition and seniority keep him from a golden throne. He doesn’t want a throne on Olympus, they seem incredibly busy- and boring for that matter- but these subtle displays of power, even ones as simple as a large and thriving realm, are important. They stake his place as a major God, and serve as a warning to any spirit or monster who wanted to hurt his lands. 

But Jon doesn’t stop in the center of the garden, instead he trails to its edge, not just the edge of his realm but the end of Olympus entirely, and climbs the bronze dusted hills. At the tops of these hills Jon can see everything. All of Olympus, from the gardens, to the fields, to the skies and the oceans and the forests and every realm the Gods call home. If he looks down he can see the mortal realm. Open mountains and valleys with villages, towns, and kingdoms scattered throughout. He knows how much mortals value their crowns, how much the gods do as well, but on these hills they feel . . . insignificant. Everyone feels small when confronted by the vastness of everything. 

It’s Jon’s favorite place in the entire world. 

The most interesting part of the view is the entrance to the underworld. It’s one of many entrances, Jon knows that several are buried deep within caves in mortal realm, others are tucked within piles of riches, waiting for some unlucky miner to unearth them. And, technically, all rivers can be used as an entrance if travelled long enough as all lead down to the River Styx eventually, but this one always intrigued Jon because it was the most used. 

It was tucked discreetly within an outcropping of rock on the side of Olympus just below the crashing waves of the God of Seas never ending storm. Two pillars of obsidian framing a gleaming iron door. Even from this distance, Jon could make out intricate detailing carved into both the door and the stone around it. It seemed magical in nature but Jon couldn’t be sure and he hadn’t yet drawn them out to show to Basira to see if she could make heads or tails of them. Jon thinks the door is wildly impractical. Much too ostentatious for a supposedly “secret” entrance to Olympus.

And everyday, at the same time, Jon would spot the God of the Underworld emerging from it. The God of the Underworld was a mystery to Jon, one of many, but the one Jon delighted in trying to puzzle out the most.. He lived in the depths of the Underworld, only officially allowed in Olympus on the winter solstice when all the Olympians met. Jon, once he was finally old enough, had been permitted to attend the solstice for the past couple of centuries and seeing the God of the Underworld was always the highlight of the event. 

He was tall, much taller than Jon, and handsome. Black hair that curled over his shoulders, with ringlets of gold and precious jewels framing his hair like a veil. Sharp, steel eyes accompanied sharp brown skin that was graced with a sharp smile. That first solstice he had been wearing black robes accented with silver and gold. He never wore the same outfit to a solstice twice but Jon found nothing had topped it yet. 

He would’ve looked hilarious next to Jon, barely a year full grown with lilies braided through his dark brown hair, awkwardly fiddling with the peach colored robes he’d had Georgie help pick out. 

But while the fact that the God of the Underworld was stunning, that wasn’t what took Jon’s breath away. The God of the Underworld was special because he was Jon’s greatest mystery yet. 

So little was known about him by those on Olympus. He stayed isolated in his Kingdom of the Dead with no company from anyone in Olympus, save these brief solstice visits. The majority of Olympus didn’t even know his name. That fascinated Jon, how a God older than the Olympian’s ascent to power could remain a mystery for so long, that not even the oldest nymphs could name another title. 

He had tried to speak with the God multiple times, to see if Jon could glean anything from the shadows of knowledge that surrounded him, waiting for Jon to discover their secrets. But each time a Goddess materialized with a hand around his arm, pulling him back. 

“He is not to be trusted,” Georgie would whisper. 

“Nothing follows him but death,” Melanie would grimace.

“It isn’t safe to be near him,” Basira would chide. 

“He is not worth your time,” Daisy would say with a shake of her head,fixing the God of the Underworld with the most withering stare she could manage, like she wished she could kill him with a glance. 

This only served to intrigue Jon further. What could the God of the Underworld have done to garner such hatred? What were the crimes of the King of the Dead? What could have shunned him so, that he would resort to secret entrances to enter Olympus?

But today the God of the Underworld isn’t at the door. And that is odd. For centuries, like clockwork he would appear from the doors and slip beneath Olympus, Jon never saw where he went but he could only assume it was to do like Jon so often did: to watch. So Jon always let him be, he found a strange sense of camaraderie in the notion that the King of the Dead liked to watch the living too.

But he isn’t here today. 

Jon stands up to see if he can get a better view, to see if maybe he was hiding behind one of the large rocks beneath the shore. He rakes his eyes across the landscape, but finds nothing. His disappointment surprises him. Instead all he sees is Oliver and Gerard making their way through the gardens to find him, no doubt bringing a message from one of the Goddesses. 

He should go and meet them, he knows how tiring it is for them to be away from their life source for long. He looks to the door again, eyes sweeping across the shore in search of any signs of movement, looks to the nymphs, and gives the door one last stare before he starts to head down the hill. 

The ground is strangely loose beneath his feet, he takes one step, two, before looking down to see if he was stepping in mud or a patch of dust. What he sees instead is the horrifying image of the ground crumbling beneath him. In a wide circle around Jon the Earth begins giving way. 

Panic surges through him as he begins sprinting for solid ground, his feet slip as loose bits of earth turn to a steadily growing incline and chunks of dirt and rock fall into the inky black below. He stumbles as his ankle clips a sharp rock, sending him flying forward with a cry, right to the edge of the growing chasm. 

Jon scrabbles at the dirt as he tries in vain to pull himself up and keep running. His ankle is stinging and Jon risks a glance back to see that he is bleeding, golden ichor drips from his skin, disappearing into the depths. The dirt gets lighter and lighter beneath him and he feels himself sinking and sinking. In one last vain attempt to save himself, Jon manages to get to his feet. 

For a horrifying second, Jon catches Oliver’s equally frightened eye, both the nymphs sprinting towards him, desperate cries ringing across the hills. Then he’s falling backwards as the slab of earth gives way beneath him, the scream for help dying on his lips. 

Above him dirt and mud keep falling, slowly overtaking his vision. The brilliant dawn sky, blue and pink and dazzling gets smaller and smaller as he reaches in vain towards it, arms outstretched for something, anything, to grab on to. Then the earth covers his vision and all is quietly, suffocatingly dark. 

_______________

In retrospect, this wasn’t Elias’s best plan. Of course, it had seemed a much better idea when Simon proposed it, a one way trip straight to the Underworld that would allow Elias to finally meet the God of Springs with the rest of Olympus being none the wiser to his disappearance.

The problem with this plan, however, was the fact that Elias had never used this particular route to the Underworld. He knew it existed, of course, but he’d never needed to use this type of transportation in the past and thus had severely miscalculated how unpleasant the journey would be. What Elias had thought would be something closer to a portal that would have plucked the God of Springs from Olympus and then safely deposited him in the Underworld turned out to be a suffocating fall straight through Olympus, the mortal realm, before dropping them unceremoniously in the Underworld. It was only because Elias was the King of the realm that he managed to stay conscious. 

The God of Springs, however, is not the King of the Dead and, through the combined efforts of both fear and shock, had lost consciousness during the fall, and is now sprawled, covered in grime, on the cool stone floor of the outer edges of the Underworld. Elias grimaces at the sight. The fact that the God of Springs had been hurt because of Elias’s rushed planning doesn’t sit right with him. If anything, it proves the rumors surrounding him on Olympus: that he should not be trusted. 

Was this really who he had become? Him, God of the Underworld, King of the Dead, reduced to this. A conspirator, an enemy, someone shunned by Gods and mortals alike. Someone who resorted to unused passages and secret meetings with Simon of all people just for new company, _any_ company. 

This isn’t who he is supposed to be. Elias does not thrive in his solitude, he isn’t Peter, who savours his loneliness like mulled wine.. He feels the ache that comes with solitude in his soul. A cold and weary pain that resonates deep within Elias’s chest. 

Elias, God of the Underworld, King of the Dead, loathe as he is to admit it, is lonely. Lonely enough to do all he just did and more just for a sliver of company. The fact that his company happens to be the same God Elias has spent centuries admiring is truly just an added bonus at this point. 

He leans down and lifts the God, careful not to disturb him, and begins to carry him to a more hospitable area of Elias’s kingdom. 

Contrary to popular belief, the Underworld isn’t fire, brimstone, and mortal suffering. Like most dead things, Elias doesn’t think the Underworld is scary, he thinks it’s quiet. And maybe a little sad. In the Underworld, a pin dropped in Elias’s throne room can be heard in Asphodel, a short ferry ride down the Styx could take you from Cerberus to Minos. Despite how large and sprawling the Underworld is, everything within tends to feel so small. 

As Elias slowly makes his way inward, he is finally confronted with more familiar sites. He quickly finds that they have entered the Underworld where the Styx runs along the border of the Asphodel Meadows, with the shores of the river just a couple hundred feet ahead. 

Elias figures it best to summon a ferry and make his way with the God of Springs back to his castle. He approaches the brackish waters of the Styx, even near the calm of Asphodel Elias can feel the hatred that emanates from the river’s waters. Faint whispers scream of injustice and misdeeds, echoes of rage from mortals long dead. 

Elias places the God of Springs gently on the black stone and plunges his hand into the water, ignores the stinging pain that comes with it, and calls out to the Ferryman. One of the few perks of ruling this realm is the ability to stand the Styx. He can bear the agony of most rivers in the Underworld. Acheron, Cocytus, Oceanus, hell, even the Phlegethon; where any other God would succumb to their miseries and drown, Elias felt only a stab of pain. The only river he has not tested his luck on is the River Lethe, although Elias avoids the Lethe less because he doesn’t think he could resist the waters and more because he would be risking not just destruction by touching them. 

It isn’t long before Elias sees the ferry drift out of the mist and glide towards them. The ferryman stands at the edge of the thin, wooden boat, a paddle in hand, gently guiding the vessel along with the current. He tends to be quite slow for a God who is so busy all the time. The entire Underworld was connected via the rivers of misery and only Elias and the ferryman are capable of traversing them. 

The Ferryman docks his boat on the shore, stepping out onto the black gravel. Elias suspects he just came from escorting a new batch of souls down the Acheron, as his long black hood is still pulled low over his face. He walks over to where Elias is sitting cross-legged next to the still unconscious God of Springs. Well, the Ferryman doesn’t walk, per say. Elias isn’t sure he has the proper legs to walk on even if he wanted to; his body slowly disintegrates into black fog from his torso downwards so, instead, he glides. 

The Ferryman peers over at Elias and the filthy God. He pulls away his hood and tilts his head quizzically. “There’s an unconscious God with you today.”

The Ferryman looks much less threatening without the hood. Elias assumes most wouldn’t be particularly intimidated by the Ferryman’s round, smiling face and his curly, light brown hair. Aside from the fact that he was clearly dead, face pale and gray, rotting flaps of skin falling off in certain places; the Ferryman is actually the least intimidating being in the entire Underworld, all soft edges and sincerity. 

“Yes, Martin,” Elias sighs. “It seems there is.”

“Is he . . . supposed to be here?” Martin asks, fiddling with the sleeves of his robes. Elias notices the flesh around his hands seems more decayed than usual. He must be tired. 

“No, Martin,” Elias rolls his eyes. “This God just so happened to accidentally fall, unconscious, into the Underworld.” Elias doesn’t mean to get short tempered but it’s so easy to snap at Martin sometimes.

Martin swallows. “Right.” A beat. “And you summoned me here because . . . ?”

Elias jolts, his purpose momentarily lasping at the brief moments Elias allows himself to breathe, but he is up instantly, bundling the God of Springs against his chest once more. He is much lighter than Elias expected, and he still radiates the warmth of Olympus, hotter and more comforting than the sun. 

“We’re taking him back to the palace, of course,” He says and nods at the boat, prompting Martin to begin pushing it back out into the current. “Hopefully our new guest will wake up on the way there,” He says and casts a worrying glance downward. The God of Springs looks distressed even in sleep, lines of fear still creased into his face. He forces himself to tear his gaze away and board the boat, ignoring how unsettled the expression makes him feel.

Elias hisses at the burning he feels stepping into the surf and lays the God of Springs gently within the base of the boat. He climbs in after him, sitting quietly by his head. A couple stray curls of grey-streaked hair have fallen into his face. Elias resists the urge to brush them away. 

Martin takes his place opposite them and begins rowing. They move much slower on the way back as Martin fights the current trying to drag them in the wrong direction. The mist wafting off the river clings to Elias’s skin, making his whole body feel cold and clammy. It obscures their silhouettes, turning them into eerie shadows to anyone who may be watching. 

But Elias knows no one is. They’re still sailing past the Asphodel Meadows, where the tall stalks of colorless flowers are gently swaying in an imaginary breeze. Just visible above that Elias can make out the translucent souls of Asphodel. Pale, grey, empty eyed souls that drifts aimlessly through the fields. Even if they could see Elias and Martin through the mist, they wouldn’t care. 

Martin is tense in front of him. He keeps glancing back at Elias as he rows, obviously wanting to say something. Elias elects to ignore him, training his attention on the views around them. He’ll wait until Martin gathers the courage to speak up first. 

They drift for another hour or so before Martin clears his throat. They’ve passed by most of Asphodel by now and are nearing the lands outside the palace. “So . . .” He begins. “Where did he come from?” He gestures vaguely to the God of Springs, who hasn’t moved or made any indication that he was waking up the entire journey. 

“Olympus,” Elias says. “The realm of Spring, if I’m to be more specific.” 

“Realm of Spring?” Martin asks and Elias is reminded that Martin has never been to Olympus. He was created not long after the Underworld was, and had been ferrying souls for millennia after millennia. Save a few trips to the mortal realm to find and capture escaped mortals, Martin had never really left the Underworld either. Elias has laid out the geography of Olympus to the Gods in the Underworld before but the last time he’d done so was centuries before the God of Springs was created. 

“It’s a new realm and our guest is the God of it,” Elias explains. “He’s quite connected to the Goddess of Harvests from what I’ve gathered.” 

Martin cringes, “The Goddess of Harvests?” He’s only heard stories about her, from Elias, the other Gods, and other various souls, and she was always a force to be reckoned with. She was benevolent most of time, but became formidable to those who disrespected her. Elias wants to reciprocate the expression. It is only a matter of time before she notices that the God of Springs is missing and Elias is not looking forward to the consequences of that realization. 

“Yes, unfortunately.”

“Well, um, how did he get here, then?” Martin eyes the layers of dirt and grime still clinging to the God’s skin suspiciously. 

“That seems a bit obvious, don’t you think, Martin?” Elias raises a brow. 

Martin nods curtly, his face a twisted cable of nerves. “R-right.” 

The God of Springs chooses that moment to groan suddenly, his face twisting up as he curls in on himself, turning his head so his face is pressed into the wood of the ferry. Martin yelps and Elias raises his finger to his lips to shush him. The God wakes slowly, his eyes blinking blearily as he drags himself up to his elbows. 

“Wha-” He slurs in the fog of unconsciousness. His voice is smooth and sweet, it feels like honey in Elias’s ears. 

“Shh, it’s alright,” Elias quickly ushers in to help the God up into a sitting position. “You’ve had a rough couple of hours but you are going to be okay.” 

The God of Springs just nods, clearly not processing what Elias has said just yet. Across from them, Martin is frozen, eyes wide in panic. 

“Where-?” He asks vaguely and Elias sees him quickly shaking off his bleariness. 

“The Underworld, or more specifically the River Styx,” Elias gestures around them. Like a switch being flicked the God of Springs jerks his head up and scrambles away from Elias. 

“The Underworld?” He rushes. “But I was- the cave in- Olympus- why-”

“Like I said, you’ve had a stressful couple of hours, take a moment to breath and I’ll be more than happy to-”

“You’re- you’re the God of the Underworld. Did you- did you bring me here?” He looks wildly between Elias and Martin and Martin’s expression tells the God of Springs all he needs to know. “You did. Get away from me right now- you- you can’t take me. Bring me back to Olympus right now.” He stumbles to his feet and the ferry rocks dangerously. He presses backwards, leaning away from Elias. 

“Wait-” Elias tries to warn as water sloshes around them. The God of Springs continues stumbling backward as the boat underneath keeps rocking, tilting all three of them off balance. 

“No, no bring me back, you can’t keep me here. You-” The God’s ankle clips the edge of the boat and the words die in his throat as he begins falling into the black, churning waters. Elias is lunging forward before he can stop to think, his heart pounding in his chest. One hand clasps the God’s outstretched wrist and he yanks to him forward, his other arm wrapping around the God’s torso to pull him close. 

For a second they stand panting. The God of Springs is looking up at him, face flushed and pupils dilated from the rush of adrenaline. “The waters here are lethal to anyone besides myself and the Ferryman,” Elias intones seriously, worry painted across his face. “ _Please_ be careful.”

The God of Springs nods shakily. “Alright.” He pushes off Elias’s chest and takes a deep breath before sitting gently in the boat, as far from where Elias was sitting as he could manage. “Alright.” 

“Thank you.” Elias sits and tries to calm his racing heartbeat. He is surprised by how panicked he is. Of course, he hadn’t wanted the God to fall into the Styx but he hadn’t expected this racing heartbeat, or the way he kept glancing at the God of Springs to make sure he was still there. It is strange, although not entirely unwanted. It makes sense, he thinks. After being alone for so long he supposes he would fear for the safety of a new guest.

The God Springs eyes him from where he is seated. He seems calmer now, having now had a moment to recover from his near fall. “Who are you?”

“I am the God of the Underworld, though I suppose you already knew that,” Elias says and pauses. “But down here I am called Elias.” 

“Why did you bring me here?”

“That is a touch more complicated-”

“Is it? I’d assume kidnapping would have quite a simple reason,” the God bites. 

“Well-” Elias trails off, trying to think of something to say. The God of Springs leers.

“Nevermind,” He scoffs. “When are you bringing me back?”

“Soon enough.”

“How. Soon.” 

“Soon, but not yet,” Elias admits. “I went to a lot of trouble to bring you here, thus I’m not too keen to return you to Olympus just yet.” 

“Trouble? That fall from Olympus didn’t seem like too much trouble,” The God growls and Elias grimaces.

“I had no intention to hurt you on the trip down. I made a careless mistake and you were injured because of it, for that you have my most heartfelt apologies,” Elias says and hopes the God of Springs can see his sincerity. 

“Thank you,” He replies curtly. “But your apology is not accepted.” 

Elias hangs his head, he expected as much. “Do you have a name I can call you?” He asks instead. 

“No,” The God of Springs responds primly. “Where are we going-” The God begins to ask just as the palace enters their view. He sweeps a glance over the towering black spires, the dead vines and moss that climb up the sides, the green fires lit in the windows. The God pales.

“We’re home.” Elias stands. “Welcome, God of Springs, to Hades.”

_______________

There are few Gods on Olympus that Georgie can stand to be around. It sounds crass, but it’s true. Watching a power struggle that spanned not only the age of Gods but the age of Titans too would foster that mentality for anyone. Olympus was filled to the brim with power hungry children and not a single one, Georgie included, was responsible enough, wise enough, or smart enough to have that power. 

The God Skies and the God of Seas viewed the mortal realm as a toy to play with, not understanding or caring that if they destroyed the world they would destroy their power as well.. The Goddess of Women and Loyalty thought she cleaned up the messes left by her acquaintances but Georgie was loath to congratulate anyone who was so willing to sacrifice God, mortal, or spirit to maintain order. The God of Music and the Goddess of Delusion delighted in messing with the minds of mortals, driving them mad with discordant melodies and hallucinations. The Goddess of Love twisted the feelings of mortals and Gods, turning friend into foe, all done with a sickenly sweet smile dancing upon her lips. The God of Messengers and the God of Forges were just useless in Georgie’s opinion, they were the Gods who delighted in the chaos caused by others but lacked the intelligence or motivation to wreck any havoc themselves. Outside Georgie’s select circle, the Goddess of the Hearth was the only Olympian she came close to liking, not prone to aggression, but deadly if you weren’t careful. Georgie respected that. 

One could understand why she kept few friends on Olympus. The other Gods are, at best, exhausting and, at worst, a danger to the world. But Basira and Daisy and Melanie were different. Quieter. Kinder. They were the few who treated their power with responsibility than with flippancy. And, frankly, Georgie liked them, loved them, Basira and Daisy were her friends, Melanie her love. They were comforting in a way that Olympus simply wasn’t. 

And then there was Jon. No one knew how Jon had been born. Melanie thought Mother Earth had sent him on a silver platter to mess with their lives. Basira theorized that he was created from the remaining threads of Titans that were left in the mortal realm. Daisy never really cared where he came from, she only ever worried about “what that monstrosity is up to now”. Georgie never had a theory of her own, but she knew he had been sent for something. 

Frankly, the details didn’t matter, what mattered was that, almost half a millenia ago now, an infant Jon was found swaddled in a bed of flowers in a new realm of Olympus, one that hadn’t existed the day before. The God of Skies insisted Georgie be responsible for him, as he seemed to represent domains closely related to Georgie’s. Spring vs. Summer. Flowers vs. Fruit. Growth vs. Maturity. 

Georgie had glanced at Jon, who had been in the tender arms of the Goddess of Hearths, his eyes already bright, intelligent, and full of life. She figured if anyone else raised him he would become insufferable, and took him with her.

Jon still grew up to be insufferable. He was haughty, stubborn, spiteful, and had the worst communication skills on Olympus, which said something, but Georgie still loved him. As did Daisy. And Basira. And even Melanie, thinly veiled by annoyance and contempt. Jon grew from a child they held dear into a close friend. And just as they were with each other, they were fiercely protective of him. 

Georgie had sent Gerry and Oliver to find Jon hours ago, summer was coming and she wanted to discuss the change in seasons with Jon. It was something more of routine than necessity at this point, but Georgie knew Jon liked the reassurance that the seasons would change without issue. And only now do the nymphs reappear, sprinting towards her, arms and legs covered in dust, with panicked faces and without Jon. 

Georgie is on her feet in an instant. A sense of dread starts trickling in, slow at first, but building with every passing second. The nymphs are babbling the second they get within earshot.

“My Lady! Jon, he-”

“-it just swallowed-”

“-a sinkhole-”

“-we tried-”

“-he-”

“-gone-”

“Stop!” Georgie raises her hand to silence them. Panic is present in every inch of their frames and Georgie knows if they continue like this that panic will bleed into hers too. “Explain again. _Slower_ this time.”

“We went to go find Jon,” Oliver begins. “Like you asked, my Lady, and he’d seemed a little off today so we thought to check the hills, you know what Jon’s like when he’s moping.. You know, the ones on the edge of the realm-”

“Jon was on there, and he was about to come down and meet us but then the ground started caving in right where he was standing-”

“The earth, it just seemed to know where he was standing, and it swallowed him whole. We tried digging around for him but it was like nothing happened, the hills were solid again. He was gone.”

They end their rushed explanation out of breath and all Georgie can hear is that Jon was swallowed by the Earth, stolen from Olympus in seconds. Now it’s Georgie who feels like the floor has dropped beneath her. _Swallowed him whole._ The dread in her stomach has started boiling, spilling over into her blood, her bones, sending chills down her spine. _Swallowed him whole._

“Okay,” She says, her voice strained. “Okay. I’m going to get some help. Stay here.” 

Georgie takes a stilted step back, then another. And another and another until she’s sprinting across the fields in the vague direction of Melanie. _Swallowed him whole_. 

This isn’t the mortal realm where you never knew how stable the ground beneath your feet would be, where you could believe a cave-in to be just that. This was Olympus, where the realm was held together by magic and the collective wills of the beings that lived there. Freak accidents don’t happen, can’t happen. This was deliberate. This was planned. 

Georgie wracks her brain for anyone who may have had a vendetta against her. Someone who would have stolen the most vulnerable of those precious to her. She isn’t the most loved on Olympus, sure, but she had no enemies. The Gods respected her. They wouldn’t have retaliated like this against her. Maybe Melanie had enemies? No, they would have dealt with her directly or they would have come for Georgie. Basira? Daisy? Possibly. But the chances were low. Besides, why would someone come for Jon to get to them? That leaves Jon. Who could have easily gained the hatred of anyone with just a few careless sentences. Georgie’s curses his stubborn, crass, idiotic face.

_Oh, Jon, just what have you gotten yourself into?_

Finding Melanie is a blur, as is finding Daisy and Basira. She remembers rushed, incoherent explanations and the surprise of unspilled tears clogging her throat. She remembers worried faces and frantic pulling to get them to come with her. She remembers the nymphs taking them aside while Georgie let the blood rush in her ears, drowning out the sound. 

In the quiet of her pounding head, Georgie allows herself to breathe. She flexes her hands and forces herself to release the tension in her muscles. _We will find him_ , she assures herself. _We will find him_.

When the rush in her head subsides, the world feels clearer once more. The others return to view soon after, their expressions ranging from barely tempered rage, to grim resignation, to dread. 

“What’s wrong?” Georgie asks and sees Melanie relax the tiniest bit with the reclaimed steadiness in her voice. 

“I know who took him,” Daisy responds, a stony expression crossing her face. “The ground opening up beneath him- it’s an old way of getting to the Underworld. I was . . . tricked into using it before, it’s not pleasant. But it hasn’t been used in ages, and definitely not like this.” Daisy picks at the network of scars that line her arms, deep scratches from the steady press of Earth.

“The Underworld?” Melanie intones and as she looks between Daisy and Georgie a look of horrific realization crosses her face. “You think-”

“No, she knows.” Georgie rolls her shoulders and takes a deep breath to steel herself. “It was the King of the Dead. It was Elias.”

And suddenly her panic and rage and grief is threatening to swallow her whole too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I uploaded on time!! I did it!!! I’m really excited to continue this, which is new because I rarely have the motivation to continue long works:)) I’ve got the whole thing planned out and it’s gonna be great>:3  
> Hope you enjoyed!


	3. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It is an honor Elias does not take lightly. He makes an oath to himself, quiet but true. He swears on the River Styx that he will become worthy of saying Jon’s name. He will become someone worthy of Jon’s trust, Jon’s respect. Immediately, he feels the binding power of his promise, the way the river seems to swell and wrap around him. The chains of the river are tight, but these are chains he bears with pride.

The Underworld is nothing like Jon expects. Not that he had had anything in mind, per say, but whatever half formed idea he had isn’t this. Whatever the Underworld would be, whether it was terrifying or beautiful or sad, Jon had always expected it would be striking. 

Instead, the Underworld is . . . lackluster. The colors are all tinged with grey, saturation bleeding from them until everything is the same bland shade of nothing. The landscape is indistinct, blurred edges that meld into one another like an oil painting as foreground blends with background. The waters are calm, the winds are so gentle that the only indication they’re there at all is the fluttering of Jon’s hair and the sway of the flower fields. 

Jon thought there would be storms, he thought the winds would be so strong it would have been hard to stand. He was expecting the realm to leap out at him, harsh shapes and harsh colors and harsh sounds. He was expecting intensity. He was expecting, well, something like Olympus. 

In Olympus everything screamed for attention. The colors were bright and harsh and hurt the eyes. The animals yelped, crowed, and sang in gorgeous tones that had your ears trained on them in an instant. The Gods wore gaudy clothes and made dazzling displays of their power. The shapes were distinct and striking, jumping out at you as they, and every other molecule on Olympus, cried,  _ me, me look at me! _

It was beautiful. It was spectacular. It was overwhelming. Jon’s gardens had always been a reprieve from that. A source of calm amongst Olympus’s endless chaos. But Jon could never go far without something else trying to draw his eye.

The Underworld is different, to say the least, almost refreshing. 

The only things that don’t fade into the background are The Ferryman and the God of the Underw- Elias. The Ferryman is quiet, hasn’t said a word since Jon regained consciousness, he stands stoic and still at the edge of the boat, dutifully steering it down the River. The Ferryman is the darkest black Jon has ever seen. He looks closer to a silhouette than a God, like a hole has been punched in the fabric of reality, leaving a vast expanse of nothing where a person should be. Light seems to die around him, beams getting pulled and thinned until their glow is gone and they have been devoured by his presence. Sound stops, echoes fade, and flat tones just barely drift through his space. Jon spends much of the journey studying him, looking for anything other than the nothing that surrounds him. 

The Ferryman must be lonely, he muses. When everything dies before it can meet him. 

Elias is . . . 

Elias is . . . different, Jon thinks. He cannot place his finger on it yet, but Elias is odd. In many ways, he remains the same, mysterious figure Jon watched every solstice. The glint of silver and gold braided into his hair, sharp cut robes accented in embroidery, piercing grey eyes that glow against dark brown skin. He holds himself with a still intensity, like beneath his stoney exterior is an incomprehensible depth of cold. It is intimidating. It is enchanting.

But in other ways he is not at all as he appears. When Elias stopped Jon from falling into the Styx, he was warm. In his eyes remained the same intensity, one that made Jon feel like his whole body was being doused in flames, but beneath it was a spark of fear. An untapped fountain of worry- something uncharacteristically raw. There is a sincerity in his words that seems out of place for a King of the Dead. 

Melanie and Basira had made it seem like Elias would be manipulative and cruel. Yet, Jon doesn’t think Elias has spoken an untrue word, or hidden any intention. Part of Jon is curious. The rest of Jon is livid. 

Intentions aside, Elias had no right to take him, steal him. Not just from Olympus, but from his own realm, his home. The Realm of Spring was supposed to be the one place in all the world where Jon could be completely safe. And Elias, whatever he was planning, had taken that from him. 

Elias cannot steal him away and expect him to be okay with it. He has no right to be hurt when Jon demands to go home. He cannot look like he wants to comfort Jon as they glide under the long shadow of the palace when he is the reason Jon is here. 

Jon cannot want that comfort either. 

Soon, they are gliding beneath a black stone bridge and Jon gets a proper look at the Palace Hades. The palace is taller up close, although in person it is much less threatening. When Jon first spotted the castle, it had seemed all encompassing. Towering black spires with jagged tops that looked as though they were trying to cleft the sky in two. It seemed so expansive, an oppressive force that loomed over the entire realm, watching every movement, every breath. A castle worthy of a God of the Underworld. 

Now? The palace seems, like most of the Underworld so far, underwhelming. Shadows cast by those towering spires create an air of quiet melancholy. And what looked like a strong, rigid palace, is actually crumbling beneath its own weight. 

Behind the black bridge the river splits around a small island in the center of the palace before flowing out back into the Underworld on the other side. The island is the first presence of real life Jon has seen. It’s no more than thirty feet in diameter, covered in flora. A pomegranate tree grows from its center, blood red fruits sprouting from thorny branches that are covered in rich green leaves. Around the tree, several foot tall grasses droop towards the ground. Shrubbery so dark it's almost black sprouts around the edges of the island, with each bush littered with glistening ripe berries. Flowers sprout throughout all the green- red, purple, blue, and yellow petals in rich, darkened tones.

But despite its black presence, the flora feels alive. It feels alive in the way his garden feels alive: powerful. 

The Ferryman docks at the palace’s edge and quietly steps out with Elias close behind. Jon begins to climb out as well, and glances up to see Elias offering him a hand. Jon eyes it for a moment, and considers ignoring it or slapping it out of the way. He elects to take the hand anyway, figuring if he’s amiable enough then Elias will let him go faster. His hand is cold. 

Jon feels much more at ease once he’s on solid ground. The river frightens him. Back when he almost fell earlier, just a single drop splashed from the waves on to his cheek. The pain had been indescribable, so white hot and intense that Jon couldn’t make his mouth move to scream. And it had been filled with rage. Jon felt it, the cries of anger and hate boiling in his blood. It created rage within him too, a rage he felt so strongly that all he wanted to do was jump into the water after them, to find the source of his anger and end its life. 

Jon shudders at the memory, he knows he would have followed that anger until it drowned him had Elias not caught him. It irks him to be in Elias’s debt. But Jon supposes it was the least he could do after having kidnapped him.

“Fetch the others, please,” Elias says to the Ferryman, startling Jon out of his thoughts. “They should still be in the Palace.” 

The Ferryman nods and glides off, leaving a trail of mist where footprints should be. 

“Where is he going?” Jon asks, his voice steady despite his fear. 

“To gather the other denizens of this realm,” Elias replies quickly. “The friendly ones at least.” Elias smirks at his joke. His teeth are sharp. “I have business to attend to and I figured it would be unwise to leave you alone.”

Jon feels a sharp stab of indignation. “Why?” He snaps. “Afraid I might try and escape?”

“No, not entirely. There are many dangers down here and I would truly hate for you to be hurt any further.” Elias is, once again, being more than sincere. Maybe it's the lingering effects of the Styx but Jon wants to punch him for it. “Besides, a tour of the Palace would be beneficial for all of us. I thought you would feel better knowing where everything was.” Elias offers Jon what he thinks is supposed to be a comforting smile.

Jon says nothing. 

The Ferryman returns a few moments later, with two figures in tow behind him. To his left Jon sees a man made of vengeance. He wears simple black and red robes, with a sheath of wild dark hair, grey skin, and whiteless black eyes. A pair of leathery bat wings sprout from his back. Just being in this man's presence makes Jon feel angry. It is vaguely reminiscent of the Styx, but the emanating hatred does not come from him as the hatred from the Styx comes from its waters. It comes from golden coins, hundreds of them, sewn on belts and bracelets and chains that the man wears. Some have been fashioned into piercings adorning his face, others are pinned into his hair. Jon senses a different threat in each one, a different injustice, a different cry for vengeance. 

To the right of the Ferryman is Death. Logically, Jon knows that while Elias is the King of the Dead, he is not Death. He doesn’t control who lives or dies, he is closer to a warden. But it still shocks him to see Death herself in front of him, like a part of him had suspected Death was Elias after all. But no, Death is not the God of the Underworld, she is something older. 

Death is beautiful, with long, curling white hair that falls down her back and spotless white robes. Her skin is a deep, dark blue littered with constellations so old that the stars in them are already long dead. Her eyes are black, just like the man of vengeance’s are; however, Death’s gaze does not harbor hate. It is endless, a sight that knows exactly when yours will cease to be. It is a sight that would make any mortal curl up and fall asleep at her feet, never to wake again. 

Even though Jon knows Death holds no power over him, his heart still pounds at the sight of her. He forces himself to remain calm, fear will get him nowhere here. 

The man made of vengeance quirks a brow at Jon when he sees him. “Who’s this, bossman?” He asks Elias. “Sure, it’s been a while since our last visitor, but Peter isn’t due back for at least a couple decades.” His tone is perfectly jovial but Jon doesn’t miss the distrust hidden in every word this man utters. He notices that Elias doesn’t either

“The God of Springs,” Elias replies before Jon can open his mouth to introduce himself. “He’ll be staying with us for a while. I’d like for you all to show him the Palace.” 

The man of vengeance looks at Elias, then back to Jon, his brow furrowed. “Ah, I see.” He murmurs after a moment. He shoots Elias a withering gaze before turning fully to Jon. “Apologies for the boss, he really doesn’t know where the line is sometimes.” Elias winces. 

“No,” Jon answers dryly, “he doesn’t.” The man laughs. 

“I like you,” He says with a sly grin and clasps Jon’s hand. “On Olympus I am known as the Erinyes, the mortals call Kindly One, or Fury, but you may call me Tim.” 

Jon makes the connection immediately. The Erinyes were supposedly three bringers of injustice. Mortals and Gods would tell the Erinyes who had wronged them and then the Erinyes would bring them vengeance. Jon supposes that’s what the coins are for. 

“It is a pleasure to meet you,” Jon replies as Death and the Ferryman join them. 

“I am Sasha,” Death introduces, a comforting smile on her face. “Spring is the season of life, a nice change of pace for the realm of the dead, don’t you think?” 

“Martin,” The Ferryman pipes up, lifting a tentative hand into a wave as he pulls back his midnight hood. Jon thinks it a little ironic that the Ferryman looks more like a corpse than the Goddess of Death. “I know you didn’t have the most pleasant introduction, but it’s not as bad as it looks down here.” 

“I’ll take your word for it, Martin. You all may call me Jon,” He says easily and ignores how Elias’s shoulders stiffen. 

“I shall take my leave, then,” Elias speaks up and nods to the group. “I’ll see you later, God of Springs.” Jon’s chest feels tight. Somehow, God of Springs sounds wrong on Elias’s tongue. Jon gives Elias one last look before following Tim further into the castle. 

The Palace Hades is laid out almost like a coliseum. The central palace is built in a circle around the island at its center with about five floors, each filled with various rooms and functions. Sasha informs him that some of the dead act as servants in the castle and preside on the lower floors of the palace. Above the servants quarters are the kitchens and storage, and as they pass the massive room with its blisteringly hot ovens Jon spies some of the dead Sasha had mentioned. 

They don’t look like Martin at all. Their bodies seem to be held in stasis, whereas Martin appears to always be in mid-decay. They have grey skin, blue lips, cloudy eyes. They pass around each other wordlessly and the only room filled with mortal souls is eerily silent. 

The fourth floor contains the armory and old magical artefacts. Shields of bronze and gold hang off the walls, ancient swords lay on velvet cushions, old scrolls unfurl to reveal spells in long forgotten languages, and various magical trinkets are scattered about the rooms. Basira would love it here, he thinks as his eyes flit over an old scroll. She would get lost in these pages for days, translating ancient texts and learning everything there is to know from them. Daisy and Melanie would have adored the weapons. The craftsmanship was exceptional, older and more pristine than even the God of Forges works. They could have admired it for ages. 

He misses them. It’s been a day at most since he fell from Olympus but gods he misses them.

The top floor is a general living area for the Gods of the realm. A grand dining hall takes up most of the eastern section of the floor, with lounging rooms scattered throughout, and several hallways open up into beautiful balconies that overlook the land. Opposite the dining hall, tucked away in the farthest corner of the palace, is a set of large, golden doors, which Sasha informs him is the throne room. 

“Elias will show you the throne later, we have more to see.”

Finally, Tim, Sasha, and Martin show him the spires. “They’re the best part,” Tim winks mischievously as he tugs Jon towards them. 

There are six towers in total, all equidistant from each other, that surround the outer edge of the palace. Despite their crumbling appearance, the black stone feels steady and strong beneath Jon’s hand. The towers are practically thrumming with magical energy. It’s powerful magic, but Jon feels weirdly comforted by it. It reminds him of Basira’s magic, pristine and curious. 

“We sleep in the towers,” Sasha explains as they make their way around. “We just passed mine, up next is Tim’s, then Elias’s, then yours.” 

“Mine?” 

“Normally we have it reserved for visitors, like the God of Seas, but it will be yours for however long you stay here.” 

“The towers are magic,” Martin jumps in. “The Goddess of Knowledge and Witchcraft created them millennia ago. They automatically rearrange themselves to fit your wants. The interior will look like anything you desire: a forest cottage, a cretan villa, a greek mansion- you name it.” 

“The Goddess of Witchcraft?” Jon asks. That’s Basira. “She made these?”

“Yeah, Gods and Goddesses used to come to the Underworld often, she was one who did,” Martin replies, a wistful look on his face. How long had it been since another God lived here? How long had Martin and the others been alone? 

“There’s one more place to see, Jon,” Sasha says and guides him to the final tower. It’s the tallest of the spires, but lacks most of the magic the others have. 

Sasha opens the iron door at its base and reveals . . . books. 

Inside the tower are shelves upon shelves of books. A grand library that climbs up, fifty, sixty, a hundred feet into the air. Jon spies older scrolls, he sees tomes bound in leather, and smells the intoxicating smell of ink and old paper. Several chairs are set up on the floor surrounding desks adorned with quills and ink. Ladders lean against the walls, allowing access to the higher shelves. He sees books on history and mathematics and magic and fiction. Hundreds, thousands of them screaming to be read, to be seen. Jon thinks he could stay here for centuries and never finish every book. 

Tim glances at the awestruck expression on Jon’s face and grins. “Like it?” Jon nods imperceptibly. “Figured you would. You’re welcome here anytime, no one really uses this place anymore. I think the books are getting lonely-” Tim continues but Jon stops listening. 

He wanders to one of the shelves and lets his hand trail across the spines. They’re cracked and malleable, Jon figures they are well read. He passes them and pauses near a section of books that seem untouched. He can feel it, all the information hidden in these pages, waiting to be released. 

He picks one out at random and opens to the first page. It looks to be a book on old magic, one about the basics of fortune-telling, charms, and hexes. He continues flipping through, eyes devouring every word, when a faint creak of wood has him startling out of the pages. 

Elias is leaning against a shelf, eyes trained on Jon, a soft, adoring look on his face. He wishes Elias would stop looking at him like that. Jon flushes and snaps the book shut. Elias lets out a breath of laughter. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt,” He apologizes and crosses to Jon. “I take it you’re enjoying the library?” 

“I- yes,” Jon stutters, trying to calm his fluttering heart. “It’s quite beautiful.” 

Elias practically preens at the compliment. “Thank you, the library is my most prized possession. I’m delighted it will finally see use again,” He says and pauses. “I hate to pull you away from your literature but I wanted to show you a surprise in the throne room. Come, God of Springs.” Elias extends a hand, which Jon tentatively accepts. 

Elias begins to gently pull him towards the door but Jon remains rooted to the floor, hand nervously playing with his robes. “Jon is,” He presses his lips into a thin line and swallows, “Fine. I think God of Springs is too formal.” Elias’s face lights up. 

“Alright, Jon,” Elias amends and leads him away. 

Elias says his name akin to how a mortal would say a prayer. Somehow he manages to put so much adoration into just one syllable, like Jon’s name is the greatest gift he could receive. It is intoxicating to hear. So similar to those who worship him, yet so different, so much better. Elias’s voice is smooth, infused with honey-rich tones. It makes Jon wish Elias would spend the rest of the day just repeating his name until he was drunk off his words.  _ Jon. Jon.  _ **_Jon._ **

It’s a new feeling, sudden and surprising. Normally, he’d be alarmed, but Jon finds the feeling is too pleasant to really care. 

They make their way back to the throne room, Jon’s hand still lightly grasped in Elias’s. Jon does not move to let go. Sasha, Martin, and Tim have disappeared between the library and now but Jon suspects it won’t be long before he sees them again. A part of him misses them already, against all odds he quite likes the other Gods of the realm. 

When they return to those golden doors, Elias doesn’t even have to touch them to open them. They swing open dramatically as he nears them, and Elias pulls Jon in. 

There are two thrones inside, side by side. One throne is a giant cast iron chair, the arms and back decorated in carved details and colorful gems. The throne radiates power, a stern, cold power that has Jon straightening his spine before he even registers what is going on. The other throne is golden, but plain, basic patterns are carved into metal and there is a distinct lack of gems and precious rocks inlaid in the seat. The golden throne also radiates great power, but there is no feeling behind it. It is just raw authority. Jon suspects no one has sat in the golden throne in a long time, if anyone had ever sat in that seat at all. 

Stranger than that is the fact that both thrones are of equal height. On Olympus, every throne is a different height, signifying who had the most power. The God of Skies is the largest, followed closely by the God of Seas and so on. There is an obvious and rigid hierarchy on Olympus, one that is seemingly absent here. The thrones are of equal height, and radiate equal power. The Underworld is so much different than Olympus. It is strange. It is thrilling. 

“What’s the surprise?” Jon asks, looking around. Besides the thrones, the room is practically empty. 

“This,” Elias points to the golden throne. “Is your surprise, Jon. The throne is yours.”

_______________

Jon practically sprints from the throne room, stumbling through some half-formed excuse to Elias and scrambling away. Elias doesn’t blame him, he remembers how he had felt when he was first made ruler of the Underworld. The new looming sense of responsibility that was suddenly on Elias’s shoulders. He figures it is best to let Jon process before he brings up the subject again and elects to let Jon be. 

In fact, he does not find Jon again until the next evening. Jon is by the docks, sitting with his knees drawn up to his chest, staring out over the styx as Martin pulls in from another day of escorting souls from the entrance of the Underworld to where they would be judged. 

The two look to be in easy conversation, a small smile apparent on Jon’s face, despite the tense hike to his shoulders. Martin, for his part, looks more at ease than Elias has seen in centuries. Elias never claims to be best friends with the other Gods here, but on some level he does care about them. A small knot unravels in his chest at the sight of Martin having finally found a friend. 

He approaches slowly, clearing his throat at a far enough distance that Elias is not in danger of eavesdropping. In any other situation, Elias would not hesitate to listen in. Think what you wish of him, but Elias couldn’t help but try to overhear any conversation near him. He craved the knowledge, wanted to know what was so important in everyone else’s lives. But not with Jon. Jon’s privacy was important. Jon’s _ trust _ was important. He would not do it to Jon. 

The two startle from whatever discussion they were having and Martin jumps to attention. 

“E-Elias,” Martin stutters. “W-What are you doing here? Do you need something? Is something wrong?” 

Elias raises his hand in a hopefully soothing gesture. “Calm yourself Martin, everything’s fine,” He chides. “I merely wanted to interest Jon in a ride around the realm.” 

Martin shrinks back, glancing between Jon and Elias. “Alright, I’ll- um, get the boat ready.” He hurries back to the dock and begins untying the vessel. 

“No need, Martin,” Elias interrupts. Martin’s hand stills against the thick twine. “I am more than capable of guiding the boat myself. As long as Jon is alright with it, of course.” 

Martin looks to Jon, apprehension clear on his face. The silent conversation they have is only a few seconds but to Elias it feels like hours. He cannot tell if it’s good or bad- gods he wishes he could understand Jon the way the others in the palace have so easily done. 

Jon has spent most of his time in the Underworld actively avoiding Elias and getting close to Martin and the others. Part of him is relieved that Jon is settling in easily, that he is not alone here. But that does not stop the hollow feeling in his chest everytime Elias is reminded that Jon is not spending time with him. Elias understands, of course, why would Jon choose to spend time with him? Elias is nothing more than a captor, an obstacle between Jon and his family- his real family. 

But, for some reason, Elias cannot bring himself to let Jon go. He spent centuries watching, waiting for a chance to speak with him and now that Jon is finally here he will not spare Elias a second glance. He can’t let Jon leave yet, not without- 

Not without-

Not without doing _ something _ . Saying something. Not until he can figure out how to apologize, or express that Jon is the light in this dark underground. That Elias is blinded by his presence, and that he cannot bring himself to look away. 

In front of him, Jon nods, ending whatever communication he and Martin were having. Elias assumes the conclusion they’ve come to is good because Martin nods his head once to Elias and scurries away. Jon leans against the post where Martin has docked the boat, arms crossed, and levels Elias with a cold stare. 

Jon looks at Elias like no one else. He has a way of piercing his gaze straight through Elias’s skin and into his soul. He feels like everytime Jon looks at him he is seeing his darkest secrets, his deepest thoughts, his most hidden desires. 

Elias flushes and swallows, straightening his shoulders, and attempting to bounce Jon’s stare right back to him. He hopes it works. 

He cannot read Jon the way Jon can seemingly read him. He never knows what is going on in Jon’s head. He used to be so good at that, gauging reactions and smirks and sly winks. A long, long time ago he would've known what Jon was thinking in an instant. 

But not anymore. Isolation has left him out of practice. Now, Elias is stuck stumbling on his words and making guesses as to what Jon wants. 

Elias manages to untie the boat and get them floating down the Cocytus without saying something idiotic and making a complete fool of himself. They float down the river in silence, the only sound being the gentle slosh of the water against the boat. Jon sits still and stiff in the center of the vessel, far away from any drops of water that splash up from waves. 

“It hurt, didn’t it,” Elias says, throwing a glance out to the river. Behind them is the palace, and behind that is the fork where the Styx continues in a circle around the perimeter of the Underworld and the Cocytus leads into the castle. “The Styx, it-”

“I know. I felt it.” Jon cuts him off. He scratches the inside of his wrist, nervously looking between Elias and the water. “How are you still alive? How do you live if- if  _ this _ is what the water does to you?” Jon tilts his head up and Elias sees an ugly burn where the Styx splashed against his throat. Raw and mottled skin that snakes up from his collarbone to his neck.

“Gods, Jon, I- I didn’t know you were- that it did-” Elias fumbles over his words, a knot in his stomach. He knew, of course, that the Styx hurt, all the rivers did. But he never imagined that it burned like  _ that.  _ If he did he would have never risked Jon’s safety. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.” 

“It’s alright,” Jon says and fixes his gaze to the horizon. “As much as I would like to find another reason to hate you, I doubt you would have brought me here if you had known.”

“You hate me.” Elias should not be surprised by this fact. And it should not hurt. Logically, he knows that Jon hates him, especially after what Elias has done to him. But it is something else entirely to hear Jon say it himself. “Understandable, of course, and for that, Jon, I am sorry.” 

The silence that falls is heavy, the back of Elias’s eyes burn with tears he refuses to shed. He deserves no pity for what he’s done. Jon refuses to make eye contact with him but Elias sees the minute tensing of his jaw and how his eyes search for something to say. 

“I do not hate you, Elias,” Jon settles on. “I have more than enough reason to but, for some reason, I cannot find it in my heart to hate you.”

Elias’s voice cannot move through the lump in his throat to answer him. 

They fall back into silence that Jon does not seem keen to break. Eventually, Elias feels confident enough to speak without his voice failing. “The Underworld is completely connected by a system of Rivers,” Elias starts, steering the conversation to something less heavy. “We are sailing down the Cocytus, the River of Wailing, which will lead us to Cerberus and the Judges.” 

Jon nods minutely as the stone dais where Cerberus stands guard approaches. Newly deceased souls stand in line under the giant three-headed dog’s underside. The forty foot tall doberman makes sure no souls try to escape back to the land of the living. Elias watches him snatch up a wailing spirit like a chew toy and drop it back in line. Ahead of the line, other souls direct the newly deceased into different chambers where the Judges will decide their fate. 

Cerberus perks up as they approach, his ten foot wide tail thumping the ground in excitement. Elias smiles despite himself. 

“Hello there, old friend,” He coos and reaches his hand up to pet the center head. Cerberus’s center head nuzzles his hand as the left and right ones try to push the other out of the way for attention. Elias laughs. “Yes, yes, you’ll all get your turn. Feel free to pet him Jon, he doesn’t bite and he just adores attention.”

Jon tries to hide a grin as he stands next to Cerberus’s left head. He raises his hand for the dog to sniff before gently petting his snout. Cerberus thumps his tail harder, swatting a few souls out of line as he does. The dog barks good-naturedly and a giant dog tongue laps over Jon’s torso. 

Jon jumps back immediately, shaking the dog slobber off his hands and arms. Elias presses his lips together to try and contain his amusement but fails as a huff of laughter slips out of his mouth. Then another, and another until he is laughing so hard he cannot catch his breath. Jon looks to him, miffed, before his annoyance dissolves and he falls into laughter too. 

“You, dog,” Jon says to Cerberus, “Have very bad breath.” Cerberus barks. 

They stay long enough for Jon to clean himself up properly, during which Cerberus butts his heads in for more attention and at one point drops onto his back on top of the souls beneath him for some belly rubs. Eventually they sail off, Cerberus barking happily behind them. 

“Brace yourself,” Elias warns as the Judges fade from view and distant screams become louder. “The Fields of Punishment are… unpleasant.” 

Unpleasant is an understatement. The Fields of Punishment are all the fire and brimstone that mortals fear. Monsters patrol the fields, steadfast on striking down and torturing any souls they come across with minor gods of fear and pain as their wardens. At first glance, the souls in the Fields of Punishment could still be alive. They bleed and scream and plead just like any living mortal would. This is by design, a way to maximize their eternal punishment. 

Jon grimaces and turns his head. “Gods, Elias, what could they have done to deserve  _ this _ ?” He asks as a monster with a snake for a head sinks its teeth into the torso of a bald old man. 

Elias sighs. “I don’t know, Jon, to be honest,” He admits. “It’s not my jurisdiction. But I know it was probably horrendous. Murderers, abusers, emperors, kings.” 

“Kings?”

“Kings is a general term, I suppose. Anyone who had more land or money or food than they could ever want and still never lifted a finger to help those less fortunate than them.” Elias wills the boat forward. The less time they spend in the Fields the better. Sometimes Elias wonders where he would end up when he died if he was mortal. Usually, he likes to hope he would make it to Asphodel, but after this stunt Elias knows without a doubt he would be sent to the Fields of Punishment and he would deserve it. 

They make it to Phlegethon, the River of Fire. Elias guides the boat upstream, where they will loop around to Acheron, the River of Woe, and sail back past the Judges to Asphodel. Downstream the River of Fire flows beneath the Underworld into Tartarus. Even from here Elias can feel the ancient evils of that realm. Tartarus is where monsters go when they die, it is where the oldest and cruelest Gods preside, and it is where the remnants of the Titans live. 

Elias forces the boat to go faster. 

Jon seems to have recovered by the time they make it back to Cerberus and the Judges. He waves pleasantly to the dog as they sail past to the Lethe, the River of Forgetfulness. The water of the Lethe is a sweet-smelling creme color. The air around it is pleasantly warm, the type that makes you want to lay down and go to sleep. 

Elias brings the boat to a crawl. “Do not move a muscle until we reach the Styx again,” Elias says in a hard tone. The Lethe terrifies him. “One drop of water from the Lethe will erase everything from your mind.”

Jon shudders. “Everything?” 

Elias nods. “Be careful.”

Jon accepts his instructions with little protest. “What about you? I thought you were immune to these rivers?”

“I have never tested whether or not I would escape the Lethe unharmed,” Elias replies. “If I was not immune to the waters of the other rivers I only risked my life. If I am not immune to the Lethe then I lose everything.” 

“Only your life?” Jon echoes, glancing at Elias with his knowing eyes. Gods, he hates how easily Jon can read him. “You are the God of the Underworld, Elias, your life is much more important than you might think.” 

Elias hums thoughtfully. “You raise an interesting point. But I must admit, I’ve never cared much about risking what is important to others,” He muses. “I only try to avoid risking what is important to me.” 

Jon looks down at his hands. Elias sees that they are trembling. “Is that why you risked taking me?” He questions. “Or why you will not risk letting me go?” His stomach turns when he realizes he does not have an answer.

They make the rest of the journey in silence. 

Elias is out of his depth. When he was younger, this was easy. Navigating the social graces of Olympus had been almost second nature. Befriend a nymph, charm a God. Using his natural charisma and charm had been fun, an excuse to galavant around in fancy robes and drink honeyed wine. 

Even when he first moved down to the Underworld, guests came often. They came with gifts of magic and fruits and joy. There was never a dull moment, never an empty room. Elias’s life was filled with acquaintances, lovers, and friends.

Then they slowly stopped coming, and Elias, Sasha, Martin, and Tim were left alone. Peter still visited, of course, but even Elias could admit he wasn’t the most invigorating company. He grew used to empty rooms, banquets untouched, silence where there once was song. At some point Elias convinced himself these halls would remain empty forever.

But now there is Jon. Jon. He lets Elias call him Jon. Elias can still scarcely believe it, he thought after all he had done all hope for friendship had been thrown out the window. But no. Jon does not hate him, even when he has every reason in the world to. He lets Elias call him  _ Jon _ . 

It is an honor Elias does not take lightly. He makes an oath to himself, quiet but true. He swears on the River Styx that he will become worthy of saying Jon’s name. He will become someone worthy of Jon’s trust, Jon’s respect. Immediately, he feels the binding power of his promise, the way the river seems to swell and wrap around him. The chains of the river are tight, but these are chains he bears with pride. 

Still, he wishes it was easier. He wishes he knew what to do to get Jon to give him a chance. He wishes he knew what to say, how to act. He feels like he’s scrambling for every word, desperate to find anything clever or charming to say to Jon. He never knows what to do next. He mourns his lost talent, his natural charm that has grown stale from a millennia of solitude. 

So Elias guesses. He takes the foggy memories of his youth and extrapolates. 

He gives Jon a throne. The throne is an easy gift. Elias is many things: sharp, calculating, stern. But he is not fit to rule the Underworld alone. No one is. The second throne had been there since the Underworld’s inception and Simon had always promised there would be a second ruler coming to join him. Elias gave up hope of anyone sitting on that throne a long time ago. But, when Elias looks at Jon, he can’t help but allow himself to hope one more time. 

Elias sees potential in Jon. Jon is everything Elias cannot be. He is soft and kind. Naive in some ways, not enough to make him ignorant, but enough to make him good. Jon is a deity of life, and the Underworld has focused solely on the dead for far too long. 

And if it’s also an incentive to get Jon to stay. Well. Elias cannot deny that. 

He gives Jon jewels. A symbol of the Underworld. A symbol of Elias. He presents Jon with the greatest riches the realm has to offer. Necklaces with large ruby pendants. Rings of garnet and gold. Diamond earrings that glisten brighter than the sun. Crowns and chains and bright, glittering gemstones that leave Jon in awe of their shine. 

He gives Jon flowers. He takes him to the center garden and shows him all the flora that grow here. He plucks deep red anemones, twines together snow white heather, pricks his thumb on a bouquet of black roses. Elias does not know everything about flowers, but he knows enough to tell Jon how he feels in colors and petals. He presses his bouquet into Jon’s grip. Jon is quiet. For a moment Elias fears he has overstepped, that he has strayed a little too close to home. But then Jon just shakes his head, plucks the stems from his hand, and kneels to replant the buds. 

“They’ll die if you uproot them,” Jon chides and digs a shallow hole in the dirt with his hands. “Plant them properly and you’ll get to enjoy their beauty for years.” He lays the flowers on the ground, plants his palms firmly in the soil, and helps the flowers grow again. 

Jon’s magic is enchanting. A dull white glow emanates from the ground as a warm breeze rolls through the garden, raising Jon’s hair so it floats off his shoulders. Jon closes his eyes and looks up, his face is beautiful and serene. Elias’s gaze traces down Jon’s neck, his new, mottled scar, and settles on his throat where his Adam's apple bobs with every deep breath. The flowers are lifted and righted, roots growing from their stems that wind their way into the dirt. Slowly, the flowers settle, looking revitalized. The petals are larger and seem to almost display themselves with pride, the colors are more vibrant, and rich green leaves angle towards the sky. Elias is only at the edges of Jon’s spell but he feels warm, good. Jon’s magic makes Elias feel, well, alive.

Elias sucks in a sharp, quiet gasp. He thinks, for perhaps the first time in his life,  _ this is divinity _ . He cannot look away, cannot take his eyes off the heavenly sight that is Jon. 

The spell dies slowly, the glow recedes but the warmth remains. Jon unclenches his hands from the dirt and blearily blinks his eyes open. He looks to be the most relaxed he has been since arriving here. Reconnecting with his magic, even down here, must be a great comfort. 

Elias makes a mental note to find more opportunities for Jon to exercise his power. 

Jon tilts his gaze to Elias, head still pointed towards the sky, a gentle smile upon his lips. “See? Better.”

“Jon that was,” Elias pauses. A million answers flit through his mind: mesmerizing, spectacular, awe-inspiring, lovely. “Beautiful. That was beautiful.” 

A blush creeps its way up Jon’s neck to his cheeks. “I- thank you. If you thought this was pretty, you should see my gardens they are-” Jon’s smile drops in an instant. The air of calm surrounding them follows. “My gardens are beautiful. I miss them very much.” He holds Elias’s gaze a moment longer and the hurt in Jon’s eyes bores into Elias’s soul. He stands up without a word and stalks back towards the palace. 

Elias does not move to follow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woooo. It’s been a long 2 months folks. I’m sorry this took so long, the last chapter was posted like a week before school started and once that got going (along with college apps and a myriad of health issues I’ve been dealing with) I had almost no time to write.  
> Originally this was only supposed to be the first half of the chapter but then I looked at the word count and figured I’d split the chapter into 2.  
> Anyway I hope you enjoy this update and I’ll see y’all in another 2 months! (Jkjk but not really)

**Author's Note:**

> Oh hey!! A new thing! This is technically also the end of Gbj week so thanks to everyone who read my stuff!! I had a great time:)) 
> 
> And helllllll yeah Greek mythology au!!! This will update every other Friday (theoretically)


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